Seduction Games
by lucretiafly
Summary: House makes a bet with Wilson. Slash ensues. Mostly humorous friendship/romance with a hint of angst, because I can't get enough of the angst.
1. Chapter 1

**Author:** lucretiafly  
**Characters:** House/Wilson  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Word count:** 746  
**Summary:** House makes a bet with Wilson. Set during the Tritter arc, to provide a convenient antagonist.  
**Disclaimer:** Don't own, just playing. The lucky ones are David Shore et al.

* * *

"Wilson!"

The demand for attention was accompanied by House's barging into Wilson's office and flopping on his sofa, ignoring the paperwork on the desk and the fact that Wilson was obviously trying to read it.

"We need to sleep together."

"Wha- What!?" Wilson spluttered, staring in confused horror at his best friend. House returned his stare with a calm look of his own, his chin resting on his hands over his cane and eyes tilted up at Wilson's, as if he had said something no more out of the ordinary than that he had tickets to the monster trucks this weekend.

"I've been thinking very hard about this, and have concluded that in order to dissolve this tension between us, we need to sleep together - get it out of the way so we can go back to just hanging as we used to." Despite the flippant tone, his eyes were serious - the situation was serious.

"House, no. We're not going to sleep together. This "tension" between us will dissolve just fine once you stop being an ass and apologise to Tritter." Wilson made air-quotes with his fingers at the appropriate point and ended with a sigh of annoyance.

House merely jerked his chin slightly in Wilson's direction.

"Tritter has nothing to do with this. He's just a catalyst; there's always been tension, and you know it." He couldn't hide the smirk in his eyes. "Tell you what: a hundred bucks at the end of this week says that you won't be able to resist my undeniable charm." He cocked an eyebrow, issuing the challenge.

"I am not going to sleep with you. Get a hooker if you're that desperate. Now, if you wouldn't mind, one of us here has work to do."

"Oh, my patient's fine, don't worry about it." House waggled his eyebrows at Wilson, leering. "I think you're objecting too much."

Wilson sighed again. Exasperation was all too easy an emotion where House was involved. He raised a hand, palm outwards towards House. Not in defeat, but as a barrier between him and any more of House's craziness.

"Okay, fine. One fifty. You can try all you want to seduce me, but it won't work and I'll just end up with a small amount of the money you owe me."

A grin slowly made its way across House's face as he acquiesced, "One fifty - all the more for me when I win." He ran his tongue slowly along the bottom of his teeth as he surveyed Wilson's face, eyes dipping suggestively to his hips at the word 'win'.

He stood, careful not to break eye contact with his target. Waggling an eyebrow again, he put on his best seduction voice - low and sensual, one that bypassed Wilson's objections and made its way straight to his groin.

"Catch you later..."

He winked as he left the room.

As the door fell shut, Wilson sighed for the third time in as many minutes and rubbed his palms over his face.

House was infuriating. Somehow he always managed to get a rise out of him - Wilson deliberately ignored any alternative meanings to that phrase - somehow always coerced Wilson into doing something he didn't want.

And yes, a bet with House in which his friend tries to seduce him is definitely something he doesn't want.

Still. He was here now, and that one hundred and fifty dollars would be very useful at the moment, with his account having been frozen pending the investigation into House. House should really just hand over the cash; it was the least he could do in repentance for this ridiculous situation, but Wilson knew better than to expect House to show guilt over his actions.

He cast his mind back over his friendship with House, seeking out likely paths the man would take in his quest into his pants. He knew his opponent was formidable, would try every trick he could to reach the goal, and Wilson began to mentally prepare himself. He was used to ignoring House's usual level of flirtation, had even managed to train his body not to react to the frequent contact between them as they walked down a corridor or sat on the couch in front of the TV. Unfortunately, he also knew that would be child's-play in comparison to what House was likely to come up with now, and he closed his eyes and sighed resignedly.

This week would be difficult.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author:** lucretiafly  
**Characters:** House/Wilson  
**Rating:** T  
**Word count:** 429  
**Summary:** House makes a bet with Wilson. Set during the Tritter arc, to provide a convenient antagonist.  
**Disclaimer:** Don't own, just playing. The lucky ones are David Shore et al.

* * *

When Wilson met House at the elevators on the way home that evening, things were refreshingly still normal between them. House looked dejected and worn out – his patient hadn't turned out to be as fine as he had claimed, and he was out of ideas.

"Want to come over tonight?" he asked Wilson tiredly. "I won't try anything – just in the mood for beer, TV and then passing out. I'll even get the pizza."

Wilson glanced at his friend suspiciously. Putting himself in close proximity to House more than necessary this week was probably only leaving himself wide open for House's advances – he again deliberately ignored the innuendo – but on the other hand, pizza and beer with House sounded good right now, and you should never turn down an occasion when House was paying. Not that Wilson was able to pay right now, but still. Gift horses and all that.

"Well, if you're paying, how can I refuse? But I don't trust you, so don't think you can fool me into thinking the bet's on hold."

House smiled appreciatively. "Good boy, Jimmy. Never get complacent."

At Wilson's alarm at having his suspicion apparently confirmed, he reassured, "But I still probably won't try anything."

"Hmm. Whatever, House." Rolling his eyes, he strode out of the lift and towards the parking lot. "You're not gonna win."

The evening passed pleasantly enough, and although Wilson was careful not to let himself get too drunk, House seemed to stick to his promise of 'probably not trying anything'. Aside from a half-hearted attempt at sliding a palm over Wilson's thigh that he didn't follow up on when the other man shifted away, there was nothing more than a brushing of fingers as beer bottles were passed and the usual faint touch of legs as they sat on the couch.

If Wilson thought he detected an increase in pressure as the night went on, well, he was allowed to enjoy it. Appreciating the sensations he had dreamed of for so long did not mean he was seduced, and definitely didn't count as sleeping with House.

He was a little disappointed however that House didn't try harder when, at the end of the zombie flick they had stumbled across on TV, he stood and looked down at Wilson.

"Coming to bed then?"

Wilson screwed up his face in a mock-grimace.

"You're not getting me that easily. My standards may be low, but not _that_ low. I'm on the couch tonight."

He was even more disappointed when House just shrugged and limped off to his room alone.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author:** lucretiafly  
**Characters:** House/Wilson  
**Rating:** M  
**Word count:** 1224  
**Summary:** House makes a bet with Wilson. Set during the Tritter arc, to provide a convenient antagonist.  
**Disclaimer:** Don't own, just playing. The lucky ones are David Shore et al.

* * *

House sat behind his desk, his whiteboard relocated in front of him. He had woken that morning from a very erotic and inspired dream in which Wilson had orgasmed whilst shouting out the answer to his patient's case, meaning he could now focus his undivided attention on the more interesting task at hand:

'Operation Bed Wilson'

It was written at the top of his whiteboard, above a list of possible courses of action.

_'Beer, pizza, TV, subtle groping'_ had been crossed through with an annotation beside it – _'too easy'_.

The next option made House grimace in disgust, but was admittedly more likely to work:

_'Romance him - nice dinner'_

House turned back to his desk, glancing at the reservation confirmation on his computer screen as he hunted for a red pen, before scribbling a short note:

_'Dinner at Lahiere's. Dress nice. I'll pick you up at 7.'_ House paused and suckled the end of the pen before signing off; _' H'_

He grinned as he folded the note into an origami heart, and paged Chase as delivery boy.

When Chase knocked at the office next door, he was met by Wilson's call of "I'm not going to sleep with you!" and coughed. Opening the door, he clarified – "I'm not Dr. House, but don't worry I wasn't looking to sleep with you anyway. He wants me to give you this; I'm meant to be down on one knee singing some cheesy song or something, but fuck that shit."

As Chase all but threw the paper at the desk and left, Wilson wondered what embarrassment House had put him through to get him to deliver it. Peering down at the note, he smiled wryly. So, romancing was the next ploy, was it? He knew House didn't believe in romance so this one obviously wasn't going to last too long. Not too much he would have to resist. He smiled fondly at the note and folded it back up before slipping it into his breast pocket. It was rather sweet.

Wilson had been pleasantly surprised when House pulled up outside his hotel in the Corvette, and not on the bike as expected. Apparently he was pulling out all the stops for tonight, driving a vehicle that he knew wouldn't terrify Wilson, and he'd even dressed smart in a tux. Wilson thanked him graciously as House pulled the seat at the table out for him and spread a napkin across his lap. The sneaky grope he had to endure was forgiven; romantic House was all very well but it was nice to see a bit of the real House underneath.

Throughout the dinner, House kept his gaze on Wilson's face and his sneaker against Wilson's brown loafer. Wilson had to admit, House really was something when he was on the full charm offensive. Intelligent and witty conversation was a given but somehow House made it appear that Wilson was the focus of the evening, the one to say the most insightful things, crack the funniest jokes. Ice blue shouldn't be able to smoulder but House managed, glancing up through dipped eyelashes with the barest hint of a smirk on his lips as he twisted the sundae spoon around his tongue. With white wine and excellent company going to his head, Wilson was struggling to remind himself not to fall for it, it was only a bet, House was just playing him... but his mind was going places led by that tongue and those eyes and the gentle rub of a foot against his ankle. It was with relief that he nodded when asked if they would like the check; once outside, the cool air would help clear the fog from his brain and he might just be able to get a grip on himself.

House grinned as he limped off to fetch the car. He had surprised himself with how easy it was to lavish such attention on his best friend, and was actually enjoying himself. If the slightly glazed look that had appeared on Wilson's face over dessert was anything to go by, Wilson was definitely 'seduced' and getting him to bed now would only be a matter of time. Hopefully not too much time – it was already Wednesday evening. The bet was up on Friday.

He kept half a glance in Wilson's direction as he drove them back to his apartment. The younger man was studiously staring out the window and refusing to look at House, a slight tic in the muscle at the top of his neck giving away how tight and determinedly he was clenching his jaw.

When they pulled up at number 221, Wilson snapped out of his reverie and complained, "This is your apartment, House. How am I meant to get home?"

"Oh come on, like I was going to drop you off at your place. You know you want to come in, just give in already."

"Dinner was lovely, House. It really was. But I'm still not going to sleep with you."

House merely harrumphed, and tried a different tactic. "At least help a cripple to his door," he muttered.

Leaning a little too heavily on Wilson, pressing a little too close, he made his way up to the front door and stopped. The arm he had slung around Wilson's shoulder slipped down his back and settled on his hip as House turned to face Wilson. A well-planned lurch, disguised as a leg twinge, brought his face inches away from Wilson's slightly startled one and he paused briefly to glance into Wilson's eyes. His expression was unreadable, too many mixed emotions passing too quickly to catch, but the nervous nibbling on his bottom lip and the darting of his tongue as he moistened it confirmed what House was looking for.

Still maintaining eye contact, House leaned forwards and pressed his lips to Wilson's. Wilson didn't close his eyes or press back, but tellingly, he also didn't pull away or reject House's tongue as it slipped in and flickered against his. House finally moved to nuzzle against Wilson's neck, trailing soft kisses up to his ear before murmuring, "I think at this point I'm meant to invite you in for coffee."

Wilson chuckled lightly as he rolled his neck into House's resumed kisses.

"That's too cheesy a pick up line to work, House – and now you've missed the chance. I'm going home."

The genuine warmth in House's eyes as he looked down at Wilson and asked, "You sure? It's really good coffee" almost made Wilson one-eighty on his decision, but he simply placed a gentle kiss on House's cheek and whispered "Night, House."

If his voice was a trifle sad, he pretended not to notice as he walked off to hail a taxi. If he gave in now, he would be letting House win. He wasn't going to sleep with his best friend when there was room for the possibility that House was only doing it to win a bet; he wanted it to be genuine. If he had to walk away from the man now in order to maybe get him eventually, had to go back to his hotel to jerk off alone instead of letting House's long fingers do it tonight, so be it.

His fist slammed into a wall without his having intended the movement.

"Fucking bet," he growled.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author:** lucretiafly  
**Characters:** House/Wilson  
**Rating:** M  
**Word count:** 1225  
**Summary:** House makes a bet with Wilson. Set during the Tritter arc, to provide a convenient antagonist.  
**Disclaimer:** Don't own, just playing. The lucky ones are David Shore et al.

* * *

House was surveying his whiteboard again. _'Romance him'_ had been crossed through too, but the annotation was more optimistic: _'almost..!'_ A number of other options had suffered the same treatment and now he was left with only one more to try.

A pen was meandering its way back and forth between his fingers as the other hand tapped a slender digit against his lip. This next step was drastic, a win or lose scenario, but it was Thursday evening and Wilson was proving to be a stubborn bastard. This was all there was left, short of stripping naked and offering himself to the man, but he wasn't doing that unless he was guaranteed a pay off of the sexy kind.

Steeling himself against his possibly-better judgement, he shouldered his bag and jacket and headed across the balcony to Wilson's office. The oncologist had his back to the glass door, packing files into his briefcase as he prepared to leave for the night. House paused to admire the view; when he finally got to hit that ass, it would definitely be worth the hassle.

Sliding open the door, he let his face muscles relax. Closing his eyes briefly, he was ready when Wilson turned to him, and greeted him with an expression of sincerity. Letting his barriers down just for this moment, he looked Wilson straight in the eye and let his voice convey the truth behind the words.

"I love you."

Wilson barely bit back a gasp and stared at his friend, eyes searching frantically for a sign that this wasn't real, was just another move to get him to sleep with him. _Yeah,_ he thought, defeated. _That would do it..._

Finding nothing but apparent honesty in House's eyes, Wilson drew a shaky breath and hesitantly took a step towards him, before catching a faint flicker of triumph cross his features.

"You bastard," he spat in disgust. "Don't even joke about that!" With a bitter glare of hurt and resentment at House, he turned and stormed out of the room, letting the door slam behind him on a repentant House.

House closed his eyes and stood very still for a moment. Okay, that had been a step too far. Never mind that the emotion was genuine, he shouldn't have used it as part of this game. He just hoped that he hadn't pushed Wilson to snapping point this time. Despite the ease of their flirtations, they were still on unsteady ground, rocked by the police detective's relentless investigation.

Maybe this was the point to let it go. Resign himself to Wilson having won; he may have lost the bet, but what's winning worth if he lost the friendship on the way?

Letting out his breath in a whoosh, House hurried to follow Wilson out of the building but found that his friend had already disappeared. He turned his thoughts instead to home and his whisky and his vicodin stash and sweet, sweet oblivion.

Alone in his hotel room, exhausted after the anger and betrayal had worn out, Wilson finally allowed himself to relax. He forced himself to think back over the scene with a clear mind, an objective viewpoint. He had believed House at the time; until he had started to move towards him the expression had been genuine. Had been more than genuine, the full range of emotion – fear, longing, hesitation, joy – that had been apparent in his voice surely couldn't be faked. Wilson pressed his palms to his eye sockets and rubbed, hard, as if to erase what came next. The expression of shock, regret and terror that had taken hold of House's face as Wilson cursed him and turned to leave. Wilson knew that House knew he had crossed the line, that he would back off now. Wilson was $150 richer, but better than that was the realisation creeping up on him of what that encounter had meant for House, to share his feelings – even if it was without entirely honest intentions. Where did they go from here? House had obviously gathered that Wilson was in love with him, if not before the bet then his non-resistance on the porch was a dead giveaway. But House himself had been enjoying their flirtations too, it wasn't entirely a game; over the course of the week there had been moments of genuine affection and attraction that Wilson hadn't missed. Maybe the bet itself was just House's way of pushing things to the foreground, bringing to light what had lain buried for years.

Wilson sighed as he reached a decision and got to his feet. Yes, House could be a jerk and would push him constantly to the edge, but this bet was not something to lose him over. Especially as the bet was, in House's mind, finished with. Wilson smiled to himself. The week wasn't done yet, but he would sleep with House anyway. If Wilson were the one doing the seducing, there was no way House could backtrack and claim a win...

Letting himself quietly into House's apartment, Wilson listened for an indication of which room the man was in. The low hum of the TV led him to the sitting room, and he paused in the doorway to see House passed out on the couch. An open bottle of whiskey and a glass sat on the table in front of him and his hand was clasped firmly around a familiar orange container. Wilson judged by the even breaths and lack of perspiration on House's brow that he was just asleep, but gave him a cursory once over just to make sure before sitting facing him on the couch. One hand stretched out to stroke his cheek, and at the gentle touch on a sensitive spot, House slipped into wakefulness.

"Hey" said Wilson, softly.

House turned to look at him, murmuring "Hey, yourself."

"I've been thinking.." Wilson stopped, biting his lip. House raised an eyebrow, waiting for the other man to continue, but it was soon joined by the other when Wilson moved to straddle his hips, careful to keep most of his weight supported by his own legs.

"Oookay.... obviously you reached some conclusion. Care to share?"

Wilson smirked, and with a whispered "yes" on the way, bent down to kiss House. Tender at first, but growing in intensity as House responded eagerly.

"Mm, okay, there's definitely wood in your pants and I don't think after this week's drawn out foreplay you're gonna go home now, so.." House broke away and grinned triumphantly. "I win!"

Wilson laughed. "Nuh-uh. You gave up. I made the first move, this is _me_ seducing _you_. You do not win."

"How do you know that wasn't my plan all along?" protested House as his hands strayed to Wilson's hips and started kneading gently. "It's all been a very clever ploy to get you to jump me. Admit you got played!"

Suddenly suspicious again, Wilson looked down at House, but remembered the unfakeable surprise on House's face as he had climbed on him and he shook his head.

"I still don't believe you. I win."

"Actually," House whispered, suddenly gentle as he wrapped his arms around Wilson's back and pulled him closer. "I think we both win."

Wilson leaned in and pressed their lips together again with a smile. He knew House wasn't only talking about the bet.


End file.
